Gray lay still, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, silent tears rolling down his face. His mind swirled in a dark storm of guilt and buried memories, his heart aching in ways that went far beyond the physical pain of the fight with the king. His chest felt tight, the weight of everything suffocating him. He tried to keep quiet, to hide it, but the tears betrayed him.
Suddenly, he felt a shift beside him, a soft rustling of sheets. Vanisa stirred awake, her gentle eyes immediately honing in on him. She could sense it—something was wrong, something far deeper than any physical injury. Without hesitation, she slid closer to him and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a soft, comforting embrace.
Her voice was a whisper, tender and laced with concern. "Gray... are you okay?" she asked softly, her breath warm against his ear. "Did the king's fight hurt you anywhere?"
